


Fire

by TajaReyul



Category: DCU - Comicverse
Genre: Gen, Gen Work, One Shot, challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-09
Updated: 2013-04-09
Packaged: 2017-12-07 23:01:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/754082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TajaReyul/pseuds/TajaReyul
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur Brown reflects on his life, his choices and failures.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fire

**Author's Note:**

> This was written in response to a challenge that was issued so long ago I don't remember what it was called or who issued it. I was supposed to write a fic inspired by one of the top 100 songs from the year I was born. That was 1968 and I chose a song called _Fire_ by a band by the name of The Crazy World of Arthur Brown. Here's a link to the video on YouTube: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vCTaxGhRC5M &feature=related This fic takes place during that time after Stephanie had come back to Gotham but before she revealed to Tim (Robin, Red Robin) Drake (and the rest of the world) that she was alive.

Arthur Brown failed at nearly everything he'd ever attempted. His stint as a game show host was lackluster and short-lived. A career as a costumed criminal lasted longer but was ultimately even less successful. He couldn't even manage to pay for his crimes without nearly getting killed. Perhaps his biggest failure was as a husband and father.

Crystal, his ex-wife, had finally turned her life around. Arthur knew she was haunted by her own failures. At best, he could only say that he hadn't been any help to her in fighting her demons. At worst, a large part of the blame for her addictions could be laid squarely at his door. He'd been a burden far more often than he'd supported her. And Stephanie, his brave and beautiful daughter—he couldn't have made her life any more difficult if he'd tried.

Arthur lit a cigarette and flipped through the want ads. Stupid Suicide Squad. They could wipe his criminal record, but they couldn't be bothered to give him a new identity. Gothamites had long memories. Maybe he should relocate to Metropolis or Central City to try to start over.

The Gazette want ads were a bust. He fished the remote out from under an empty pizza box and turned on the TV, finding a movie that had originally come out while he was “dead”.

He woke, hours later, choking on the thick smoke that filled his one room apartment from the ceiling down. He could hear the crackle of the flames and feel the heat clawing at his right side. Rolling left out of his lounger, Arthur gulped the cooler air close to the floor. He blinked tears out of his eyes to see that the fire blocked his way to the door. Coughing, he dragged himself by his elbows through the detritus of his life towards the window, in a pathetic race with the god of hellfire. He was losing when a cloaked figure crashed through the window.

“Let's get you out of here, old man.” The voice was muffled, but it sounded vaguely familiar. Arthur tried his best not to lean on his rescuer too heavily. She seemed too small to be strong enough to support him. In spite of his doubts, she wrestled him onto the rusted fire escape which creaked and groaned under their combined weight.

“Crap, crap, crap!” she exclaimed as the fire escape separated from the wall. “Hang on!” She took some kind of gun from her belt and aimed it up at the building across the alley. The next thing Arthur knew, they were airborne, swinging, and then they crashed into a brick wall. He almost lost his grip on the cloaked girl who had pulled him out of his burning apartment, but her hold on him and her safety line were solid. She let them both down slowly to the ground.

“Firefighters and ambulance are that way,” she pointed to the mouth of the alley.

Arthur glanced in the direction that she pointed and then turned back to thank her. She was gone. He looked around wildly, but only saw a corner of an eggplant-colored cape disappearing over the edge of the roof of the building they had crashed into.

“Stephanie?” But it couldn't be Stephanie. She was dead, killed almost a year ago by that Black Mask gangster.

Wasn't she?


End file.
